Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

just because he worked for them, but because they were a part of him. Trinity, one of his best friends, and Connie... Well, he wasn’t exactly sure what category to put Connie in at the moment.

* * *

A short while later, Trace entered the police station. Once he was through security, he trotted up three stairs and glanced around, hearing muffled voices to his left and right from behind closed doors. In front of him was a long desk counter where two uniformed officers were working.

“Trace.”

He whipped around and saw Maxwell, dressed in his blue uniform, walking toward him.

“Hey, man. I was hoping to run into you,” Trace said in a rush, his heart rate elevated. He had broken every speed limit, cutting his arrival time in half, in an effort to get to Connie and see for himself that she was fine.

They shook hands and pulled each other into a one-armed hug. Trace hadn’t seen Max in months.

Growing up, he and his brothers used to hang out with Maxwell since they lived in the same neighborhood. Unlike Trace, who’d joined the navy, his two older brothers and Maxwell had gone into law enforcement.

“It’s good seeing you. I just hate it’s under these circumstances,” Maxwell said.

“I agree. Where is she?”

“Follow me. I was looking out for you since Trinity told me you were on your way.”

Trace walked alongside Maxwell and followed him through the door to the right of the desk counter. Then they entered a hallway with a few offices with glass walls.

Maxwell slowed. “Connie’s fine, but she’s a little shaken up. You know she’s like a sister to me. I hate she was even there. While one of the responding officers questioned her, they realized that she got a partial ID on one of the robbers. That’s why she was asked to come to the sta—”

“Wait. What?” Unease clawed at Trace. “She recognized one of them?”

An officer peeked out from behind a closed door. “Hey, Sarge. You got a minute?” he said to Maxwell.

“Yeah, give me a second. I’ll be right there.” Maxwell turned back to Trace. “The bank robbery is under the Feds’ jurisdiction. So they’ll be handling the case from here. Connie will be working with them, but right now she’s with our sketch artist.”

Trace hated the idea of Connie being anywhere near this case. It was bad enough she’d had to experience a bank robbery. “What do you mean, working with them? The Feds aren’t planning to use her to draw the robbers out, are they?”

Maxwell glanced around as if making sure no one was nearby before leaning close to Trace. “I’m sure they’ll have more questions for her. There’s been three bank robberies in the area within a four-month time frame. We think they’re related. So far, Connie is the only witness we have who got a clear look at one of the robbers. She’s the only one who’s been able to give anything helpful so far.”

Trace shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s too dangerous. I get them needing her to answer questions and help with the sketch, but that’s it. They can’t be using her as some type of bait. I’m not letting that happen,” he said with conviction.

Connie wasn’t his. Trace had no right to have a say in any part of her life. Yet, even as her friend, her well-being was important to him.

Maxwell gripped Trace’s shoulder and squeezed. “I get it, man. I’m worried about her, too. She’s like a sister to me. But only a handful of us know she can partially identify one of the bank robbers. She won’t be put in any danger. The Feds will probably check in with her over the next couple of days to see if she remembers anything else. But just so you know, Connie told them that she’s willing to assist any way she can.”

“What?”

Maxwell shrugged. “That’s what she said. I can’t see them needing her after today, though. Her working with a sketch artist is going to be very helpful. Oh, and is Langston still with the FBI?”

“Yeah, he’s been undercover for the last few years. Now he’s back and working out of the Vegas field office.”

Maybe Trace could get some information from his brother, but he doubted it. Like most law-enforcement agents, Langston was tight-lipped about cases, even more so when it was someone else’s.

* * *

Trace looked up when Connie and two other men exited a door. They were about thirty feet away. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he assumed the guys must be FBI, if their dark suits were any indication.

“She’s going to be fine,” Maxwell said.

Trace hoped he was right. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her pink sleeveless blouse was wrinkled, something he assumed had to do with the bank robbery. Connie was normally meticulous about her appearance; there was no way she would be out in public looking disheveled. Even her dark pants had gray smudges, as if she’d been rolling around on a dusty floor. The black flats on her feet weren’t her norm, either. At around five-five and petite, she rarely wore anything other than high heels at the office, at least as far as Trace had seen. Right now, though, she appeared almost timid. Or maybe that was what he wanted to see, so that she’d need him somehow.

How pitiful was he, that he was looking for any excuse to hold her close? Smart, confident and self-sufficient, based on what Trinity had told him about her, she probably wouldn’t want to be coddled.

Connie folded her arms around her midsection in a protective move. As if sensing him watching, she turned her head slightly and their gazes collided. She pushed her long, dark curls behind her ear, allowing him a better view of her beautiful face. Her golden-brown skin glowed beneath the fluorescent lights, and she gave him a shy smile before returning her attention to the suits.

“I hate this,” Trace mumbled under his breath.

“Hate what?”

“I hate that